


Congregation of the Golden Knight

by morganalegay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Cults, F/F, Just in the beginning though - Freeform, M/M, Merlin literally causes the apocalypse because he is unhinged and gay, Merthur - Freeform, Modern Era, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Probably More - Freeform, Rating May Change, Resurrection, Suicidal Thoughts, lots of angst before happy ending, obviously, this is more serious than ive made it sound, this is my first fic in many years so pls go easy on me, this might be around 20 k or more when its done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganalegay/pseuds/morganalegay
Summary: Merlin is tired of waiting for Arthur to return. He is tired of the rush of excitement that comes with another war, with waking up every day in the crumbling apartments built on top of Camelot's ruins. He is tired of the hopelessness and the bleak feeling of loss after every peace treaty and every new vaccine and every announcement of the end of every global crisis. To succeed at anything you have to make sacrifices. To see Arthur again you have to make sacrifices. To save the world you have to make sacrifices.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin had lived through sickness before. He had lived through death and war and plagues and through the eerie silence that settled over the countryside when everything went to shit. He had seen everything. And he was tired of seeing it. Everything was horrible and beautiful and ugly and terrible and amazing and everything ended. Everything. He was waiting for the worst thing so that he could have the best thing. He was hanging on to his last thread, and he didn’t want to let go. He was hanging on to his last thread and he wanted to let go. Things could get so confusing. He hated people who were in love. He hated people who weren’t in love. He hated it when the sun rose and he hated when the sun set. The world was ending, but it wasn’t. Not yet. He hated the sympathetic smile of the woman down the hall who told him that everything would be okay. He hated being pitied, but he thought of himself as the most pitiable man alive.  
If he was even still alive.  
He wasn’t. But he was. And he remembered everything.  
He remembered holding him in his arms as he breathed his last breath. He remembered having to tell Guinevere what had happened. He remembered the guilt and the grief and the losing the war and losing his friends and losing everything. It didn’t matter that they had beaten Morgana and that they had killed Mordred. By the time that Merlin had pulled himself off the shores of Avalon and forced the numbness of loss down his throat they had already lost. Everyone that Merlin had known was gone. Everyone had lost people that they loved, but Merlin selfishly believed that no one had lost as much as he did.  
Merlin was tired.  
He was done waiting.  
The world wouldn’t let him give up, so there was only one thing left that he hadn’t tried yet.  
Years and years of men fighting other men and killing and politics and pointless wars and disease and every atrocity that humankind could inflict on one another wasn’t enough. Everything had gone wrong that could go wrong. What was one more disaster?  
He would tear the world apart if it meant that he could see Arthur again. He would cause the apocalypse if he had to. He would do whatever it took to tell him he was sorry. To tell him that he should have killed Mordred when he found him hiding in the castle. He could have lived thousands of years with a child’s blood on his hands if it meant that he could feel Arthur’s arm around his shoulders and his hands ruffling his hair. He had been so naive. No one was worth as much as Arthur was. Not one person, not one million people. Not one billion people. Not anyone.  
And if Arthur was back then things would be okay. He would come back when the world needed him most, and he would fix it. Just like he did with everything. He would fix Merlin and he would fix Gwen and Leon and Gwaine and Percival and Gaius. He would fix the world and Merlin wouldn’t be alone any more. Everything would be better. Merlin wouldn’t hate it when the sun rose, Merlin wouldn’t hate people who were in love and people who weren’t and he wouldn’t have to be pitied and he wouldn’t have to be alone.  
But for now he was alone. For now he shut his windows and let the food in his fridge mold and read his journals over and over again. He couldn’t forget anything, but he was afraid he already had. What had Arthur’s voice sounded like again?  
If Arthur was back he would be able to stop this war. He would be able to win this war and he would be able to save everyone. He would make the world his Albion and he would make sure that nothing bad ever happened again. Nothing bad ever happened to Merlin again. To them.  
Sacrifices are necessary, Merlin knew this. He had made plenty of them.  
This was just another sacrifice. This was just another thing that he was doing for Arthur.  
Merlin rarely used magic any more. It was too dangerous. The old religion had all but disappeared and spells were like muttering in a crowded room. It was easy to be misheard and easy to be misconstrued. Merlin knew this, and he was counting on it. Morgana had used the spell on him once, long ago. He could still feel its weight in his lungs and on his shoulders, like a residue. Like something dirty he couldn’t quite shake off.  
He pulled the feeling out of his chest and it hung in the air in front of him. Anything to get Arthur back. Anything.  
“Gesweorc, hine beclyppe.” The spell was dark magic. Merlin spoke the words and the heaviness enveloped him. He felt whole again.  
He spoke the words and the world fell silent. He spoke the words and the last dregs of magic rushed out of the air and settled like a weight on his shoulders and he felt the earth stop spinning for just a second. He felt everything rush to a halt, he felt cars crashing into each other and planes falling from the sky and electrical towers bursting into flames and the delicate web that the old religion had woven around the world collapsed in on itself and wrapped itself around him like a blanket, protecting him from what he had done.


	2. Chapter Two

For days there was nothing but silence. People hidden away in their homes, hidden away from the corpses and the fires and the crashed cars and hospitals that turned into morgues. There were so many bodies. There were so many more who had inherited the power of the old religion than Merlin had thought. There were so many who were gone. So many were dead that there weren’t enough hands to bury them.  
People slowly emerged from their homes, from stores and shopping malls and universities, but no one left the run down complex atop the ruins of Camelot. It was like being too close to an explosion. There were no survivors. Except for Merlin.   
He woke up the same way that he had for hundreds of years, alone. He shook a fog from his head and every time he blinked his vision clouded. He wiped tears from his eyes but he did not know why he was crying. He looked down at his hands and they were young and he felt unsettled. He didn’t remember how he got here. The room around him looked like it should belong to him, but he couldn’t remember decorating it. Books in old English were strewn across the room, and he could read their words, but they didn’t have any meaning. He felt like he had a hangover but he couldn’t remember drinking the night before. Something was missing.  
Something was missing. Or was it whole?   
Something was whole but something was missing.  
He was forgetting something important. More important than he could put into words. It was a feeling deep in his chest and his heart ached with relief at the missing burden. He felt like he was wrapped in layers and layers of cotton, his ears searching for some kind of sound. He stood still, his mind latching on to a distant humming of words. He did not know if they were real, but they were better than nothing. He laid down on the floor, staring at the patterns on his ceiling and the tears welling up in his eyes spilled over onto his cheeks. Something was wrong, and something was right.  
Isn’t it funny how things work out? He thought. He had no idea what he meant. It’s almost over. He was crying still, but it felt different. Relief and guilt and sadness and loss and elation all tugging at him, but he couldn’t latch on.   
It was dark and there was a fire burning outside of his window. The humming was louder and louder and louder but Merlin couldn’t make out a word. He was alone. It was almost over. He fell asleep for hours, maybe days. He did not eat, he did not need to eat. He did not need to drink. He laid still on the ground, his heart beat muffled by the magic swathed around it. The humming was louder now that he awoke. He massaged his temples. He had not bathed in weeks. There were footsteps outside of his door and he lay still. He could have been dead, but he wasn’t. He was here.   
“There is a witch in the woods.” A voice whispered outside of his door.   
There was a witch in the woods. Merlin closed his eyes tightly and something slid into place. A witch in the woods should have been dead. A witch in the woods should not have survived. He was the only one who should have survived.   
There was a witch in the woods and Merlin was going to find her. There was a witch in the woods but she would not be there for long.  
He had left the complex by the morning, and by the time he had gone it had turned to dust behind him. Merlin knew that there shouldn’t have been a witch in the woods, but he couldn’t understand why.  
He had asked the magic to stop breathing and it had. It had left the air around him and settled into his lungs. He was nuclear. He was the end of the old religion and he was the beginning of the new religion. He was the end of the waiting and the wanting and the hoping and he was the beginning of the doing. He had to undo all things in order to get anything done. But something was stopping him from remembering what. He started with the witch in the woods.   
He had left the humming behind, and he had left the shores of Avalon behind. He had left the people camped in the woods behind and he had left them to find whatever washed up on the shores. First there was a sword buried deep in the sand. Then there was a man, in silver armor and a blood red cape. Then there was a man who needed a friend and people who needed something to believe in. People who needed someone to believe in. Merlin had left it all behind for the witch in the woods. Who might not be a witch at all. He blinked hard again and a tear rolled down his cheek. He was happy. Sacrifices must be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitches will post a 900 word chapter for gratification and be like: cant help being a taurus!  
> I am a fiend for instant gratification so excuse me for publishing a chapter that is so short! I'm hoping that being able to do this will help me crank this out faster and stop myself from getting stuck on mundane details. Anyway! Tell me what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

There was a witch in the woods- the voices outside of Merlin’s flat were not wrong about that. She was angry and she was desperate. Desperate not to feel helpless and desperate not to feel alone. And she would do anything not to be desperate any more.   
Morgana raked her hands through her hair. She had died- yes. She knew that much. She had died and now she was here and things felt wrong. The static in the air that she had felt all of her life was missing. The pulse beneath her fingertips was now quiet and no matter how far within her she reached, she could not find her magic. No matter how deeply she slept, no dreams bubbled to the surface. She could almost cry. Instead she laughed. How ironic it was. She had spent years and years wishing her magic away, willing it away so that she would not be cast away from one of the only homes that she had ever known. She had wished and prayed to the gods that there would be a night where she wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open. Leaving Camelot didn’t make things better, not while Arthur and Merlin were around. She wanted peace, but she also wanted revenge. No one should be made to feel the way that she did. And now her magic was gone. The magic around her was gone, but it was too late. Here she was defenseless. Here she was angry and desperate. And she was alone.   
So she found a stone cabin and she barricaded the door and she cried. Her tears were silent, and she hurled rocks against the walls of the crumbling cabin. Being here, wherever she was, was wrong. Without her magic there was nothing that she could do. Nothing she could use to protect herself. People would be coming for her, and they would be angry. Merlin- Emrys- would be coming for her and she would not be prepared. They would hurt her, and they would take everything from her. Her allies, her soldiers, everyone who was left. Gwen and Morgause and Arthur and Merlin were already gone, she had no friends to worry about losing. She had no one. And now she had nothing.   
The cabin had dirt floors and its roof was halfway caving in. It smelled like mold and mushrooms grew in moist, dark corners. Morgana was starving, and she was thirsty, but she refused to eat. Eating would make her vulnerable. Eating would make her a target for her enemies who may show up at any moment. As the sun set, she stood facing the barricaded door of the cabin. Her black dress was tattered and dirty, and a cold, heavy feeling sat in her chest and left her mouth tasting like copper and metal. She hated Merlin more than ever then. He was the reason that she is alone.  
Morgana stood for so long that her feet bled and her legs felt numb. Her stomach growled and the world around her grew blurry. She was alone. She would not let herself be taken laying down. Someone would come for her, she knew it. Arthur, she was sure, had died, and there would be blood to be spilled in return. Hers.  
The next day, she collapsed. A branch snapped in the forest, and she was angry. She would die there, laying on the ground of a dirty hovel, when she should have been queen. She would die again and she would be alone, with everyone she loved having left her.   
There was a pounding at the door, but she was too weak to stand. Too dehydrated and too hungry and much too tired. The door rattled at it’s hinges, and broke off. Morgana closed her eyes. She knew that she would die, that was certain. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of looking her in the eyes as they stabbed a knife through her chest.   
“Morgana?” There was a voice, a voice so familiar that Morgana could have cried. Gwen. Gwen wouldn’t kill her. Gwen couldn’t kill her. She was too weak. “Morgana?” Gwen rushed to her side, shaking her almost furiously. Morgana couldn’t have opened her eyes if she had wanted to. Her mouth was as dry as a desert, and her head throbbed with every beat of her heart. Perhaps she wouldn’t die. Not yet anyway. She would be taken back to Camelot, where Gwen would sentence her to death and execute her immediately. Morgana could work with that. If she had to die, at least it wouldn’t be a quiet death.  
“Water.” Morgana croaked. Gwen tied something, a piece of fabric, around Morgana’s wrists as tightly as she could.   
“Open your mouth.” Gwen’s voice was stern, but it shook. She was afraid. Even with Morgana here on death’s door, she was still afraid of her. Gwen poured water down her throat, and by the time she had swallowed, she realized that she could have easily been poisoned. It wouldn’t have been the first time.   
“How did you find me.” Morgana croaked. She opened her eyes and Gwen knelt in front of her, her deep red gowns just as torn and dirty as Morgana’s. Her hair was wild and knotted, and her chin was scraped, red and scabbed over.  
“I wasn’t looking for you.” Gwen looked away. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and her eyes were wet with tears.   
“What were you looking for?”  
“Something.” Gwen shook her head. “Familiar.” She whispered, and a single tear streaked down her face. Morgana didn’t push her. Not because she was concerned, or because she cared for Gwen, but because she knew that the more clueless she seemed, the more helpless she seemed. And the more helpless she seemed, the easier she would be to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT IS UP everyone so I have spent five years of my life shipping morgwen and i just realized today that they are sister in laws..... but this is my fic and I GET TO CHOOSE THE CANON. so. that's that on that.

**Author's Note:**

> hi to anyone who might be reading this... sorry i dont think i will be updating maybe ever.  
> i only have room in my mind for one pandemic to live rent free and that is the real one... funny of me to start writing this right before covid became serious in the united states lol.... anyway..... maybe arthur will come back and save the world or something goodbye


End file.
